You wouldn't **** a man
Or **** a woman
Then **** her, normally.
But listen kid
You've got a gun
Have some fun
You're in the army now.

I let you get the best of me
pride is gone
soberity lost
you changed all
you changed me
And you don't even know

It's your eyes
always the eyes
the eyes of a cat
calculating, thinking
a window to your soul
with the curtains closed

It's your smile
the one they say no one sees
you hide it away
but share it with me

It's your voice
rarely heard
a talking cello
kept under lock and key
working in silence

You have changed my life
this last summer
these last chances
to feel your eyes
to see your smile
to hear your voice
because you've changed me
and you'll never know

"Oh my, I don't feel
that I can go on much longer.
These old man's heels
have in the past been stronger. "

And then,
down a black Hole
to seek the last truth;
defeating blunders of mind,
but too long in the tooth.

And then,
back out, returning to the open.
Auburn leaves beneath lie still.
Wind stirs, orange spirals woven.
"It's a universal fractal spill."

And then,
"Recursive, it's recursive;
my whole existence has thrived.
One end is subversive,
the other end is contrived."*

And then,
the black Hole opens wide,
*******, grabbing, attracting--
uncontrived, unaware of requite.
One old soul the Hole is extracting.

And then,
...

There is cake.
The cake is here
on a plate
right in front of me.

I do not need the cake.
I want the cake.
I want it bad.
I really really really want this cake.

I could reach out
devour it in 10 seconds flat
10 seconds of caramel filled
spongy ecstasy

Then I'll feel bad.

I don't think I'll have the cake.

you are walking the streets
you do not walk the boards anymore
your trousers are frayed, your shoes dusty
and the hard walkways have worn them out
you are not presented in the glorious costumes
and the stage crowns anymore
the illusion is gone, it’s reality
that’s permanent now
you’re the beggar, the recluse, the plain and shadow
you walk down to the shops
and your speech raises eyebrows
where’d he learn to speak like that?
they ask, in whispers, like conspirators on stage
your actions are too lofty, your manner too distant
it threatens them, they must crush you –
so that’s why you’ve learned to blend in as well as you can
those were the days
when they heard your words, and they felt it resonate
when they noted your pronouncements
and there was acknowledgement
but those were the days, a long time back when they
looked at you, and they knew you, and they looked in awe
now the children sneer at the old man,
and when it’s too cold, your nose runs
and you need to **** more often
and the women notice you hobble,
you leave the art of significance
and you learn the art of the indistinct
and you’ve learned
which practice is more difficult:
acting the prominent, or acting the anonymous

*Go, old man, old actor, every dog has its day;
the new breed eats the bones today